


Under Your Skin

by zeldamonkey



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bruises, Come Shot, M/M, Orgasm Delay, Porn with Feelings, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 01:53:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1587311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldamonkey/pseuds/zeldamonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's got a surprise for Nick when he gets back from South America. It doesn't go exactly as he'd planned.</p><p>(aka gratuitous tattoo porn)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Your Skin

**Author's Note:**

> this fic occurs in an alternate universe where nick grimshaw isn't on tumblr all the time. it's a lovely universe where the fourth wall is still intact and it's a place i'd quite like to live in.

There's a popstar in Nick's bed when he gets home from work: fast asleep under his duvet, snoring open-mouthed and with a little patch of dribble on the pillow.

Fuck, but Nick’s happy to see him again.

They've hardly spoken since Harry left for tour; only a couple of phone calls, a few random messages at odd hours. No Skype, and Nick'd even banned himself from Tumblr, because there's nothing sadder than a nearly thirty year old man sitting in front of his computer at three o'clock in the morning, wanking to gifs of his popstar boyfriend performing on the other side of the world.

It'd been Nick's idea, not to talk much while Harry was away. He'd thought it might make things easier. He won't make that mistake again.

He lets himself stand there and watch Harry sleep for a minute, until it goes from being sweet to probably Twilight-level creepy, and then he tiptoes back out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He's got no idea when Harry might wake up, but he'll be hungry when he does.

 

Nick's got the gourmet pizza ready to go in the oven - well, okay, so he's defrosted a frozen pizza base, tipped the contents of Sainsbury's deli counter over it and then grated some cheese, but it's almost like cooking - when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He fumbles it out with floury fingers.

It's a text from Harry: _Hiii i can hear you in the kitchen. Stop pretending you can cook and come to bed I've got a surprise for you_

It's official, he's in love with an idiot. 

"Your dick is never a surprise, Harold!" he yells, then shoves the pizza in the oven and goes to wash his hands.

His phone buzzes again: _Its not my dick this time I promise. Hurry up, I think you'll like it_

It's definitely going to be Harry's dick; it always is. But it's not like that's a reason for Nick to stay away.

He gets one of Puppy's treats out of the cupboard and tosses it on her rug. "Sorry, Pup, bedroom's off limits for half an hour." She looks at him forlornly but doesn't follow him down the hall, so he counts it as a win.

When he pushes his bedroom door open Harry's still in bed, covers pulled up to his chin and great big grin on his face. 

"Hey, Nick." He's got big dark circles under his eyes and his hair's a mess, squashed flat on the side where he's been sleeping on it, but this version of Harry is more beautiful than the artfully quiffed one on the covers of a hundred magazines, because this Harry is Nick's.

Yeah, so, probably Harry really shouldn't go away any more. It's turning Nick into an embarrassing sap. "Hey yourself, popstar. You alright?

"All the better for seeing you, Nicholas." Harry bats his eyelashes and Nick snorts.

"You're such an idiot." Nick strips his shirt off, though, and starts on his trousers, because this is definitely going to end in sex, so he might as well.

"Hey," Harry pouts. "Not that I don't enjoy a good strip show, but don't I even get a kiss hello first?"

Nick rolls his eyes, kicks his pants off, and goes over to the bed. He keeps the kiss closed-mouthed and short, just a brush of lips really, because romantic reunion snogging is one thing but Harry's aeroplane-and-sleep breath is something else. When he pulls away, though, Harry makes an annoyed sound and tugs him back in with a hand on the back of Nick's neck. He holds Nick in place as he licks into his mouth, and to Nick's surprise he's minty fresh. 

"What," Nick says, when Harry finally releases him, "so you got out of bed to brush your teeth but couldn't come to the kitchen to say hi?"

Harry shrugs. "Had to piss. Besides, your kitchen's always freezing and it's not like we weren't going to end up in here anyway." He wriggles over and lifts the covers a bit. "Get in already, come on."

The bed’s cold, but Harry's deliciously sleep-warm. He smells of travel and boy and old sweat. It's probably weird that Nick likes it.

"Hi," Harry says again, when they're lying face to face and the duvet's tucked back around them both. "Missed you." He kisses the tip of Nick's nose, then his right eyebrow, chin bumping Nick's cheek as he does.

"Weirdo," Nick says, fondly. 

"You love it," Harry says, and brushes his lips over Nick's left eyebrow, too. Then he pulls back and frowns at Nick. "This is where you say you missed me, too," he prompts.

Nick does his best surprised face. "Miss you? Did you go somewhere? I didn't even notice."

"You're a shit liar," Harry says, and leans in for a proper kiss. Nick makes Harry work for it, keeping his mouth closed until Harry makes a frustrated noise and pushes Nick onto his back, climbing on top of him. He can feel Harry's cock starting to plump up already, and he can't help but respond, pulling Harry down against him, opening for Harry's tongue. 

"Say you missed me," Harry demands, when he pulls back. His lips are shiny with spit. "Nicholas. Say it."

"Might've, a bit," Nick admits. "A teeny tiny bit." Harry's looking worryingly like he might try tickling the truth out of Nick, a habit Nick's yet to break him of, so Nick says quickly, "Come on, where's this surprise of yours then?"

"Oh! Oh, yeah." Harry rolls off Nick and pulls the duvet up to his chin. "Under the covers, you have to find it."

Nick props himself up on his elbow. "For the last time, Haz, if it's your dick, it's not a surprise. Your dick is like the opposite of the Spanish inquisition."

Harry frowns. "What?"

"Everyone always expects it."

Harry rolls his eyes. "You're not nearly as funny as you think you are, you know. Anyway, I swear it's not my dick. Honestly. Promise." Nick raises an eyebrow and starts to sit up, but Harry tightens his grip on the duvet and hurriedly adds, "Though it, um. It might be, like, dick-related."

Nick freezes, horrified. "Oh my god. You didn't - did you pierce it?"

Harry's eyebrows disappear under his fringe. "No! Jesus, fuck, no. Just - just look already, will you?"

"Let go of my duvet, then," Nick counters, and Harry finally releases it. Nick sits up, and the covers slide back, revealing those stupid birds, then the butterfly, and then Harry's dick, lovely and familiar and mercifully unpierced, but now framed by - 

Nick pauses for a moment. Well. In a purely aesthetic sense, he supposes, the tattoos aren't that bad, and Harry's certainly had stupider things permanently inscribed on his skin. But. 

"Why've you got ferns on you, Styles?" he asks, finally, when it becomes clear that Harry's not going to spontaneously share the slow, rambling story of their significance. "Are ferns your butterfly's natural habitat?"

"Don’t be stupid, and anyway, they're not _ferns_ ," Harry says, offended. "They're laurels."

"Laurels?"

"Yeah, like, ancient Greece?" 

"Oh, ancient Greece, of course." Nick pokes one. The way Harry's had them done, when his cock's hard it's going to look a bit like it's got wings. "Still don't see why you've had them tattooed upon your person. Do they mean something?"

"They look nice, I think," Harry says. "And, I mean, they gave out laurel wreaths, like, in the Olympics, and stuff. For the winners."

Christ, Nick's boyfriend's gone and got a fucking Ancient Greek victory crown tattooed around his dick. Nick's not sure whether to laugh or cry. 

"Do you like them?" Harry asks. His cock's plumping up a bit under Nick's gaze, which is par for the course, but it makes Nick think of something. He sits up properly and swings a leg over Harry's thigh so he's straddling him.

"Maybe," he says. "Haven't decided yet. Where did you get them done?" He traces over the leaves with his thumbs, gently, and watches Harry twitch.

"Um." Harry's breathing's already picked up; he loves having his tattoos played with. "Just the usual place in LA? I decided to do it, like, the day after I got there, and they could fit me in, so."

"Mm." Nick shuffles down the bed, nudges Harry's legs apart and settles himself between them. "Any of the lads go with you?" He idly palms Harry's cock with his left hand, flattening it against Harry's abdomen.

"Uhh. No?" Harry's watching Nick breathlessly. "They weren't around. Nick. Are you gonna - "

"Was anyone with you, then?" Nick leans in and just breathes, warm and wet, over the head of Harry's cock, as he runs the edge of his thumbnail along one of the branches. "Or were you alone?"

"Just, like, Mick." One of Harry's bodyguards in LA, if Nick remembers correctly. "Nick, c'mon, don't tease."

Nick lets go of Harry's cock and presses down hard on the tattoos instead, one thumb at the base of each of the branches. "Did you get off on it?" he asks. He's seen Harry get ink before, a couple of times. He's seen what Harry's like: how he goes heavy-lidded with the pain, how much he likes it, how he surrenders to it. And that was only with little designs on Harry's arms, not these big branches, down low on his hips, where he's so sensitive. "Did it get you hard?"

"Nick." Harry's squirming under his thumbs. "Fuck."

"Tell me." Nick drops his head down and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the middle of one of the branches, sucking hard. Harry's hips come off the bed a bit and Nick pushes him back down. "Stay still," he says, then sucks Harry's skin back into his mouth, and digs the fingers of his right hand into the other tattoo.

"I don't - fuck. Yeah, a bit. Ow, Nick, that hurts."

Nick lets the skin slip out of his mouth, and presses his thumb over the already developing bruise. "Did they notice you were getting hard? Were they watching you get off on it?"

Harry's inhalation is shaky. "Yeah, I guess. It's normal, though, like no one said anything."

"Did you get yourself off, afterwards?" Nick licks a wet stripe along the underside of Harry's cock and watches it twitch against his abdomen. It really is obscene, the way the new tattoos frame it. Honestly, the laurels should be ridiculous, but like so many other things about Harry, they're fucking hot instead. And the idea of Harry getting them done by himself, on another continent, with strangers watching him get off on it, is suddenly infuriating.

"Yeah," Harry says, unaware of Nick's change in mood. "I had a wank when I got back to the hotel. Was annoying though, I got come on the bandage and had to change it." He rocks his hips up. "C'mon, are you gonna suck me, or not?"

Nick takes his hands off Harry altogether and sits back. "No, I don't think so."

Harry gapes at him. "Ni-ick. Are you serious? After all that?"

Nick shrugs. There's a strange prickling irritation under his skin, and a blowjob isn't going to get rid of it. "Want to fuck you instead. Can I?"

"Um. Yeah?" Harry looks bewildered, which is not surprising; Nick's usually too lazy to want to do the fucking. "I mean, of course, if you want."

"Good." Nick taps Harry's side as he shifts off him. "On your front, then." Nick won't be able to see the tattoos that way. It might help.

"You're being really weird, Nick," Harry says, but he rolls over anyway, and Nick crawls across the bed to get the stuff out of the drawer.

It's not like Nick doesn't know he's being weird. He's not usually one to get all possessive. He'd waved Harry off on another bloody world tour just last month, for fuck's sake. He knows he doesn't own Harry. He doesn't want to. That's not what they're about: they've both got their own lives to live, and he doesn't begrudge Harry one second of enjoyment of his popstardom.

Something about those stupid tattoos has just got to him, that's all.

"You going to fuck me, then, or what?" Harry asks, face smushed into the pillow and half-turned towards Nick. "Or should I just get myself off?" He lifts his bum up and works a hand under himself. Nick's back over to him in a second, yanking the hand away.

"Don't touch," he says. He doesn't want to be reminded of Harry wanking, alone, in his hotel room in LA, the sting of fresh tattoos giving a sharp edge to the pleasure. "Not until I tell you."

"Urgh, fine. But just so you know, you're still being weird." Harry tugs his arm away from Nick and folds it under his head. "This'd better be good, too, 'cause I was really looking forward to you blowing me."

"I'll make it good if I feel like it." Nick settles himself back over Harry's thighs, then slicks up a couple of fingers and slides one in without preamble. Harry hisses. 

"Jesus, Nick, you couldn't have warmed it up a bit?"

"Don't whinge, Harold, it'll warm up fast enough." Harry's tight, which is not surprising: he's been away for more than a month, and as far as Nick knows, Harry never fingers himself for fun. He opens readily enough for Nick, though, and after a minute Nick adds a second finger, watching the two of them disappear into the tight clutch of Harry's arse.

"Let me know when you're ready," Nick says, when he's been working them in and out steadily for a while, and Harry's started shifting back into it. Nick'd normally take that as a sign that Harry's good to go, but he doesn't entirely trust his own judgement right now, with this strange intensity prickling under his skin. "Or do you want another?"

Harry shakes his head, hair shifting on the pillow. "No, 'm good."

Nick wipes his fingers on the sheet and reaches for the condom, then hesitates. They've fucked without a few times before, and they'd both been tested not long before Harry'd left, but. "Haz." He runs a hand down Harry's back. "Do I need a condom?"

Harry turns his face into the pillow, and Nick's heart sinks. They hadn't made any promises, and tour had to have been an endless parade of temptation, but he'd still hoped. But then Harry says, "I don't know, do you?"

"Haz. You know what I mean."

"Yeah." Harry's chest rises and falls under Nick's hand. "I mean - I haven't, with anyone. So. If you haven't either, then you could, if you want."

"Fuck." Nick's heart does a heavy thump-thump, like it's trying to pump too much blood at once. Harry hasn't - they haven't. They're still good. He takes a deep breath. "Yeah, yeah, okay."

Some of his strange urgency had faded with Harry's admission, and Nick feels almost calm as he slicks himself and pulls Harry up onto his knees. "Sure you're good to go?" he asks, when he's lined up. They both like it better bare, but condoms do make it a bit smoother. 

"Said I was, didn't I?"

"Right." Nick takes another deep breath and starts working his way in, slowly but steadily, everything raw and hot and tight without a condom between them.

"Fucking hell, Nick," Harry says, head dropped forwards, when Nick's hips are flush with his arse. He's been breathing slow and controlled, big lungfuls huffing out of him with every inch Nick pressed forwards. "You get bigger while I was away or something?"

"Flattery will get you everywhere, darling." Nick brushes a kiss over the knob at the top of Harry's spine. "You alright?"

"Yeah. Just out of practise, maybe." Harry shifts forwards slightly, and the movement sets off little sparks in Nick's gut. Harry's so tight. "Reckon it'll be better if you just go for it, actually."

"Yeah? Alright. Say if it's too much."

The drag out is just as slow, on the edge of too much friction, and Nick pauses with just the head of his cock holding Harry open to smear a bit more lube on, hoping it'll help. Maybe it's that, or maybe Harry's relaxed a bit, because when Nick drives back in he sinks deep with one stroke, and Harry exhales on a moan.

"That's better. Fuck, you feel good."

Nick gets his hands on Harry's hips and lifts him up higher, pulls out all the way and watches Harry's hole close around nothing, and then fucks back in, deep and smooth, and then does it again, and again, and again.

"Jesus," Harry says, on the fifth or sixth round. He sounds surprised, probably because they usually fuck when Nick's pissed as a newt, and his technique then tends towards the fast and sloppy. "Not that I'm complaining, Nick - _fuck_ \- but what the hell's gotten into you tonight?"

Nick's not entirely sure himself, but he reckons this might be what an out of body experience is like. It's almost as though he's watching himself fucking Harry, and he knows it feels good, but there's none of the desperate urgency that normally sends his technique to shit. 

Then Nick looks down and notices that the tips of Harry's stupid fucking laurels are still just visible, even from the back, curving around the soft flesh above Harry's hipbones. 

Right. Fuck calm. Fuck technique. Nick digs his fingers into the tattoos, pulls out and slams Harry back onto his cock, fast enough that their skin makes a wet sound as it slaps together.

"Hey, what - " Harry starts, but his next word turns into a stuttered groan, forced out of him as Nick draws back again and drives in hard and fast, once, twice, three times. Harry tilts his arse up like he wants Nick to go deeper. "Oh, fuck, Nick - "

"Like that?" Nick's breathless from the effort, from the too-sharp pleasure of it. He's got his fingers curled into the softness of Harry's hips, gripping so tightly he can almost feel his knuckles turning white. "Want more?"

"Yeah, c'mon." Harry's shoulders shift and Nick realises he's working a hand down again to wank himself off. 

"No, stop," he says, halting mid-thrust. "I said don't touch. Not until I say."

The sound Harry lets out us almost a whine. "Nick, c'mon."

"No." Nick shoves Harry forwards and off his cock. "Not like that. I want to see, so if you want to touch yourself, get on your back."

"Really? Fuck, alright. Give me a minute." Harry takes his time about it, legs bumping against Nick's thighs as he shuffles around. When he's settled on his back he puts a deliberate hand on his cock and raises an eyebrow at Nick. "Can I, then?"

He makes a pretty picture, touching himself, so Nick nods. "Yeah, okay, but don't come."

Harry sighs. "Fine."

Nick pushes Harry's thighs just far enough apart to let him kneel between them. His own cock is almost uncomfortably hard, waving about in the air, but there's something he wants to do before he gets back to it. He rests the pads of his thumbs on the bottoms of Harry's laurel branches, and traces lightly up the length of them. There's an oval bruise in the middle of the right branch where Nick'd had his mouth earlier. It mars the clean lines of the tattoo. Nick likes it.

"Thought you were fucking me," Harry says. He's wanking himself slowly, swiping his thumb over the head of his cock, shiny with precome. 

"In a minute," Nick says, absently. He presses his thumb into the developing bruise, and ducks his head to suck a matching one into the other side. Harry's tattoos are all about the symmetry, after all.

"Nngh." Out of the corner of Nick's eye he sees Harry's rhythm on his cock falter for a moment, before he picks it up again. "Ow, that - Jesus, Nick."

Nick presses a last smacking kiss to the tattoo before sitting back. "You like it." Pinpricks of blood are already welling up under the skin where Nick's mouth had been.

"Not as much as you, apparently," Harry says. He's probably trying to sound annoyed but he can't fool Nick. His breathing has gone irregular and he's really going for it now, wanking himself faster. It won't take him much longer to come.

Nick lets it go on until until he knows Harry must be close, then just as Harry's eyes fall shut and his stomach tenses, Nick grabs his wrist and pulls his hand off his cock.

"What the fuck?" Harry's eyes slam back open. "Are you serious?"

"I asked you to wait for me," Nick says, as calmly as he can manage with Harry flushed and hard and desperate in front of him. "Not very good at waiting, are you?"

"What? What's that supposed to mean?"

Nick presses just under the head of Harry's cock. "Couldn't wait to come, couldn't wait to get yourself all inked up."

"Oh." Harry's eyes go wide. " _Oh_. Is that was this is about?"

Nick doesn't answer him. Instead he pushes Harry's knees up to his chest, and says, "Hold them there, will you?"

Harry takes hold of his legs almost absentmindedly. "Nick," he says. "You know I get tattoos all the time." 

"I do know that, yes," Nick says. Harry's hole is pink and shiny with lube. Nick slides a finger inside him, just because he can, then crooks it as he draws it back out. Harry's stomach muscles jump under the laurels.

"Right. So. Why are you - oh, fuck." Nick's got a hand under Harry's bum, curling it up towards him, and he's got the head of his cock snubbed up against Harry's hole, just poised there, not pushing in.

"Why am I?" Nick prompts, after a moment, when Harry hasn't continued. "Why am I what, Harold?"

"Nick." Harry makes a frustrated noise and nudges his hips up, but Nick moves with him, allowing him just the teasing pressure and no more. "Nick, c'mon, stop fucking around and fuck me already."

"I will when you finish your question." Nick's probably torturing himself more than Harry, to be honest, with the slick tight heat of Harry's arse so close, but it's the principle of the thing. "Come on. Why am I what?"

Harry huffs his fringe out of his eyes. "Fine," he says. "Why're you bothered about me getting these, when you've never been before?"

"Oh, I don't know," Nick says. "What possible reason could I have?" He tightens his grip on Harry's arse, holding him still, and drives back into him in one long stroke. Harry drops his head back and opens for him, sweet and smooth. "Why would I be bothered by my boyfriend getting frankly pornographic hip tattoos without me there?"

"Nick," Harry says, and swallows, the long line of his neck exposed. "I - God."

"Why would I be bothered," Nick says, drawing back and shoving in hard, "by you fucking off to another country and letting someone do that to you? What interest could I have had," he leans forward and fucks into Harry with short sharp jabs of his hips, "in watching you get inked up here - " he lets go of Harry's arse and digs his fingers into the tattoos, one after the other, "and here, where you're so fucking sensitive?" 

Harry shakes his head, hair tossing against the pillow. "I didn't think."

"I know you didn't." It's a terrible angle and Nick's barely holding himself up anymore, but he gets a hand on Harry's cock and starts to stroke. "You didn't consider that I might want to watch you squirm, watch you get hard from the pain and have to try to hide it. That I might want to be the one to get you off afterwards, when you're still buzzing from it."

"Fuck," Harry gasps out. "Nick, please, I need to come."

"Do it, then," Nick says, and tightens his grip on Harry's cock, still fucking into him in shallow strokes, not enough to get himself off but just right to push Harry over the edge. "Come on yourself, go on. Make a mess."

Almost as soon as Nick's finished speaking Harry's whole body goes taut, and then he lets out a strangled groan and his cock pulses in Nick's hand, come striping up his chest. He misses the new tattoos entirely, most of it landing on the butterfly. "Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," he chants, as he shudders through the last of it.

Nick's been holding still inside him, the tight clench of Harry's arse as he came too much, but as soon as Harry relaxes he starts moving again, with long deep strokes that make Harry shiver under his hands.

"Ohh, fuck. Give me a minute, Nick, Christ."

"Sorry, don't feel like waiting." Harry could stop him easily if he really wanted, but he doesn't, so Nick keeps going, relishing the way Harry twitches when Nick slides in deep. Harry's cock's still half-hard, lying up against his belly, framed by the laurels.

"You gonna come in me, then?" Harry asks after a moment, eyes fallen shut again and words slurred, hitching a little when Nick's cock rubs over his prostate. "Gonna fill me up?"

It's tempting; Nick loves leaving Harry fucked out and wet and messy. But today he wants something else. 

"No, not today." He can feel his orgasm building, every stroke bringing him closer. Harry's gone beautifully pliant underneath him, letting Nick bend him in half so he can drive in deep. It's going to be hard to make himself pull out, but Nick wants it. God, he wants it. It's primitive, it's ridiculous, but Nick wants to come all over those fucking tattoos, claim back the soft flesh of Harry's hips for his own. 

The thought of it is what gets him there, and he starts to come even as he drags himself out of the clinging heat of Harry's arse, almost too late, but it's enough: his come splashes over Harry's abdomen, and the delicate curving leaves of a laurel branch. 

"Holy fuck." Harry's got his eyes open again and he's staring down at himself, a mess of come and ink. "Did you just - "

Nick sits back on his heels, trying to catch his breath. He should apologise, probably, but he doesn't want to. That felt really fucking good.

"Holy fuck," Harry says again. "You did." And then, inexplicably, he starts laughing. 

"What?" Nick says. "What?"

Harry's properly giggling, red faced. "I just - does that mean you like them, or what?"

"Oh my god." Nick pinches Harry's flank, carefully avoiding the mess on his abdomen. "I suppose they're not entirely offensive, Harold, no. You've certainly had worse."

"Right, right," Harry says, between hiccupy laughter. "But what I want to know is like, on a scale of one to ten of how much you like them, where does jizzing all over them fit in?" 

It's a bit hard to pretend to be mature and dignified when you've just deliberately come on someone, so Nick ignores Harry entirely and rolls off the bed instead in search of a flannel. It's not so much that he's concerned for Harry's comfort as he doesn't want to make more of a mess of his sheets. He likes these ones, they're Egyptian cotton.

"Is it an eleven? Harry calls after him. "Or maybe a jizz-teen? Like fifteen, get it?"

Nick chooses not to respond; it'll only spur Harry on to worse puns. He gives himself a token wipe down in the bathroom, then brings a wet flannel out for Harry and drops it over the butterfly. "Clean up your menagerie, Styles, you're a mess."

"'S more of a garden, now, I reckon," Harry says, mopping himself up and tossing the flannel on the floor. His giggles have gone, and his teeth dig into his lower lip before he looks up at Nick. "Are you - you're not really upset I got them done without you, are you?"

Nick can't actually stay annoyed at Harry about anything; it's a problem he's working on. Besides, he does realise it was a bloody stupid thing to get upset about in the first place. "Course I'm not," he says. Harry doesn't look entirely reassured, so Nick resigns himself to a sticky cuddle and gets back into bed, tugging Harry against him. "Honestly. I mean, it might've been fun if you'd waited 'til you got home so I could come along, but you're perfectly entitled to get a tattoo whenever and wherever you want to, you know that. I just got a bit carried away."

"Yeah." Harry arches his back, stretching. "I kinda liked it, actually. Well, except when you wouldn't let me come. That was mean."

"Sorry." Nick presses a kiss into Harry's hair, then instantly regrets it. Harry's probably not washed it for at least a week. 

"Apology accepted." Harry's silent for a moment, and then he says, "You know, though, I'm not that bad at waiting, really."

"Hmm?" Nick says, distracted. He's just remembered he's got to get Harry’s pizza out of the oven, or it'll burn and set the bloody fire alarm off for the second time this month.

"Yeah." Harry turns his face into Nick's neck. "I mean, like. I waited for you, didn't I?"

God. Nick's not sure if Harry means the years they'd waited before getting their shit together, or just that he'd not slept with anyone while he'd been away, that he'd waited to come back to Nick.

Either way, Nick can't do anything but roll Harry over and kiss him properly, let the kiss say all the things he's not been brave enough to put into words: how good it is to have Harry back; how Nick'd nearly gone mad without him, the past couple of months; how much he hates waiting, how rubbish he is at it.

How he knows, now, that he'll wait for Harry anyway, as long as he has to, because Harry's gotten under his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://zelda-monkey.tumblr.com/).


End file.
